


Stuart Hatfield

by Teddy (I_am_lampy)



Series: Standalone Stories [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/Teddy
Summary: A hitch in his breath drew Benoît's attention. Stuart glanced at him, and then away, and Benoît saw, in that moment, the lie that was Stuart Hatfield.





	Stuart Hatfield

**Author's Note:**

> I've written a long post about my headcanon for this story on my [tumblr blog](https://iamlampyao3.tumblr.com/). The reason I created a Tumblr blog was to share stuff like that with my readers. I've spent several hours making it pretty, too. So go to Tumblr and follow me! Now! Well, okay, read this first. Then follow me!

* * *

Benoît stood at the wall of windows in the kitchen, watching the sun set, while he waited for Stuart to meet him downstairs. They were almost late to meet with friends for a birthday celebration. He checked his watch.

"Stuart!" Benoît called up from the first floor of their _maisonette_. " _Dépêchez-vous!"_

"Ben, you do know that telling me to hurry doesn't actually make me faster, don't you?" Stuart yelled back. "I told you I needed to check on something. Give me five minutes!"

" _C’est n’importe quoi!_ You cannot fool me. I know you are fussing over that ridiculous hair of yours," Benoît said then muttered, "Worse than my sisters."

"I heard that!" Stuart called, fainter now (definitely in the bathroom, then). There was momentary silence before Stuart poked his head over the railing of their loft bedroom, and said, grinning, "We both know my hair is effortlessly magnificent. Much like my arse."

"Oh,  _oui,_ it is, as you say, _un beau cul_. The hair, eh? You should go back and fuss over it some more. You look like you have had someone's hands fondling it."

" _Fondling?_ That wasn't all you were fondling," Stuart said. "It’s your fault we’re late."

Benoît shrugged with a Gallic lack of apology.

It was true that Benoît had, perhaps, distracted Stuart from getting ready on time. It was also true that Stuart had a magnificent ass, therefore Benoît could not be blamed for the adoring kisses he had placed on said ass between whispers of _I love you._ Ergo: not his fault they were late.

"Wrap the bottles, will you?" Stuart asked before disappearing again.

"Why do  _I_ have to do all the boring chores," Benoît groused under his breath.

They kept a small TV in their kitchen, and Benoît switched it on, listening half-heartedly to the BBC News while wrapping the bottles of honey wine Stuart distilled from the small vineyard on their property, which was pollinated by their own apiary as well. It kept Stuart busy in between his job getting paid to hack into websites (for the purposes of outlining a defense plan for the owners of those websites, of course. But Stuart liked to leave that part out because it didn't make him sound as  _cool_ ).

The long lines of Stuart’s body as he trotted down the stairs came into Ben's peripheral view. "Did you wrap the b—" Stuart began to say, when his attention was captured by the news.

Benoît turned his eyes from Stuart back to the TV as he absently wrapped the bottles to keep them safe during transit.

 _"—six long years, beloved London blogger, Dr. John Watson, has finally seen justice for Sherlock Holmes, a consultant for the Metropolitan police from 2005 until his death in 2012."_ A picture of Holmes and Watson appeared in the center of the screen before being minimized in the upper right hand corner, followed quickly by an image of Holmes with a man who Benoît assumed was Watson. _"In 2012, Sherlock Holmes jumped to his death from St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London—"_

"Oh my God, Stuart, he looks just like you," Benoît said, leaning forward to better see the smaller picture of Holmes still displayed in the corner. "It's  _uncanny_."

"Yes," Stuart said. A hitch in his breath drew Benoît's attention. Stuart glanced at him, and then away, and Benoît saw, in that moment, the lie that was Stuart Hatfield.

"Ah. I see. He does not _look like_ you. He _is_ you," Benoît said, his voice flat and hoarse.

"I'm sorry," Stuart said, face stricken, and took a step towards Benoît before his attention was again diverted to the TV screen.

 _"— witness statements saying the sound of a gunshot was heard shortly before Holmes was seen balancing precariously on the roof ledge of the hospital. Some statements included seeing_ _Holmes and Watson speaking on their mobiles with each other before Holmes jumped. Watson's mobile, as well as the two found on the roof, were bagged as evidence by the Met shortly after Holmes's death, but have since been lost, leading many to speculate that certain Metropolitan Police Officers had been co-conspirators in the discreditation of Holmes along with James Moriarty, who was still posing as Richard Brooks at the time._

 _"Beginning in 2014, the_ _Metropolitan Police were forced to open an inquest into Holmes's death as a result of the public outcry against police corruption. That inquest quickly led to evidence that there were at least some members of the Metropolitan police force who were accepting bribes in exchange for wilfully thwarting the course of justice, and with that discovery, a task force was created to gather and review evidence into Moriarty, Holmes, and the Met itself._ _Seven higher-ups in the Met, as well as at least a dozen lower ranking officers are awaiting trial. Many of those_ _had direct involvement in discrediting Holmes at the behest of Moriarty, who had become obsessed with Holmes in 2010._

_"The press conference ended with a stirring speech made by a very emotional Dr. Watson."_

Benoît watched as a short, grey-haired man stepped up to the microphone on the dais where the press conference was held. There was a whimper of pain from Stuart and Benoît turned to see he had covered his mouth with his hand while his other arm was wrapped tightly around his torso.

" _Mon chèri,"_ Benoît said. A sudden desperation came over him to relieve Stuart of his pain. He pulled Stuart's hand away from his mouth and squeezed it gently. Stuart squeezed back tight enough to hurt, and Benoît whispered, "My dearest."

_"The day after Sherlock killed himself, I wrote a one sentence post in my blog that said: he was my best friend and I will never believe he was a fraud. I consider him one of the greatest minds London has ever seen. He was a brilliant and highly gifted man and the work he did with the Met, however—er, unconventional—saved lives._

_"Sherlock should be here by my side. Well, actually, if he was alive, we wouldn't be having this press conference, would we?"_ There was scattered laughter from the audience. _"What I'm trying to say is that, while I am mighty glad to hear the Met admit they were wrong, it doesn't bring Sherlock back. The simple truth is, we failed him. New Scotland Yard failed him. London failed him. Even I failed him."_

Watson looked down at the podium before continuing. _"I'm probably one of the few people who got to see the private Sherlock. Whatever you might have believed then, or still believe now—Sherlock was not heartless or cold—he was—"_ Watson's voice broke with sorrow and it took him several seconds to compose himself. _"His heart was mighty, maybe even more mighty than his mind. Yes, he had his bad side. He could be callous. In fact, he could be a right arse, but he didn't always intend to anger or hurt people. At home, he was funny, talented, generous. He was surprisingly easy to love for an arrogant git, if you took the time to really_ see _him._

 _"He was also fiercely protective of the people he loved, though he tried hard not to come across as 'soft'. I have never doubted for a minute that Moriarty used Sherlock's heart against him, to coerce him into jumping. I believe that Sherlock gave his life for the people he lo—"_ Watson's voice broke again, and at the choked off sob Stuart gave, Benoît felt his own eyes pickle with tears. " _—for the people he loved, one of whom I was honored to be._

 _"You know, if Sherlock were here today, he would say, 'John, you know I don't care what all these people think.'"_ There was more soft laughter from the audience. _"I would tell him that I didn't work for the last six years to clear his name because I cared what people thought of him. I did it because it was the very least that I_ _could do for this incredible and brilliant man who changed my life._ _He gave me the gift of his friendship in the darkest time of my life. Sherlock, if you were alive today, I would tell you this—it doesn't amount to much, but clearing your name is my gift to you."_

The news reader came back on saying, _"We may never know what happened between—"_ but Stuart lunged forward to switch off the TV and then turned towards Benoît with a look of helplessness.

"Was it true, as he said, that you jumped to save their lives?"

"Yes." The word was spoken on a breath.

 "You were in love with him," Benoît said, trying to make it sound like a statement rather than a question, because it hurt to think what the answer might be.

"Not—not quite that," Stuart said and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he opened them back up, they shone wetly. "He was. He was my friend, and I loved him more than I had ever loved anyone at that point in my life. It could be quite frightening. How much I loved him. It felt like, like something more powerful between us than simple friendship, but. It wasn't sexual. Sometimes, though, I thought we might, in time, become something like. Like lovers."

"And have you—" Benoît stopped, his mouth suddenly dry. He was terrified, he realized, absolutely terrified of losing Stuart. He forced himself to continue. "Were you waiting for this? For them to clear your name so that you could go back? Back to London?"

Stuart must have seen the uncertainty in his eyes because he took Benoît’s face in his hands. "No, I would never do something so heartless to either of you."

"But do you _wish_ you could go back?"

Stuart shook his head, and gave Benoît a watery smile. "I did, at first, of course. I was terribly lonely and so homesick. It felt like it had when I was eight, and went away to school. It hurt like that had. But it was another lifetime ago, Ben."

"And in this lifetime? Are you content? Happy?"

"Of course I am. It was an exciting life," Stuart allowed. "But I look at those pictures and I don't even recognize myself. Who is this man who loved the thrill of danger and the glory of being Sherlock Holmes so much that he didn't see the real danger until it was too late. You know, I did what I had to do. What I had to do to ensure their safety. If I could have spared them that kind of grief," he gestured at the now inert TV set. "I would have done anything, you know. To spare them that."

"Don't you think," Benoît asked, hesitant. "Don't you think he should know? That you are alive, I mean."

"I think that John," Stuart said sharply, voice shaky with conviction and emotion, "John has spent the last six years of his life doing something that was the very _opposite_ of what I wanted him to do. I wanted him to be safe so he could get on with his life! The very worst thing I could do, when he has finally scrubbed the last of Sherlock Holmes from his life, would be for me to show up again and put Sherlock Holmes right back in it."

"Yes," Ben said softly, nodding in agreement. Then, "Must I call you Sherlock now?"

"You idiot," Stuart said fondly. "My name is Stuart Hatfield."

Stuart drew Benoît into an embrace, holding tight to him, like a structure dependent upon the pylons sunk deep into the earth to support it. Together, without a word, they brought their lips together. Stuart trembled for a moment as they kissed before a deep shudder went through him. Perhaps it was only Benoît's imagination, but he suspected that, with that shudder, Stuart was letting go the last remnant of Sherlock Holmes, sending it back to London, where it belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me on [Tumblr](https://iamlampyao3.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
